


Family Business

by Jevvica



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Friends as Family, Gen, s02e05 The Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jevvica/pseuds/Jevvica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos has one more apology to make.  Tag to Episode 2.5, “The Return”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: So terrified/excited to see some payoff for Porthos' story arc this season!
> 
> I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

“ _Family business, nothing to do with us._ ” - Treville

“ _The Athos I know always fights against injustice. Wherever he finds it._ ” - Porthos

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

* * *

 

Porthos was in his shirtsleeves when he answered the door at Athos' knock.

“May I join you?” asked Athos, holding up a bottle of wine.

“I could do with a bit of a drink before bed,” answered Porthos lightly, stepping back from the door. He cleared the small table of the weapons he'd been cleaning and found two glasses. “What are we drinkin' to?”

“I wanted to...,” Athos stopped and tried again. “In Pinon, I should not have spoken to you as I did. You were there to help. My behavior was unbecoming of a gentlemen.”

Porthos sat down and leaned back, a knowing look on his face.

“Treville said that you were off on family business and it had nothin' to do with us. Family business, fine. But it has everything to do with us if it has to do with you. Don't matter what it is: Milady, Pinon, Thomas, or that bottle,” he gestured at the wine in Athos' hand. “Whatever you're facin', we face it with you. Even when you're damned difficult about it.”

Athos relaxed under Porthos' confident words. He meant them and Athos would never understand what he'd done to earn such loyalty.

He sat at the table with Porthos, pouring the wine into glasses.

“It is...hard,” began Athos hesitantly. “I fled my life and my past and yet if found me. Ignoring it gained me nothing.”

“Denying the past never does.”

Athos took a long drink of wine.

“You mentioned injustice and I know that is especially salient to you-”

“No. It wasn't about me and it wasn't about that. It was about not letting you do somethin' you'd regret.”

Athos blew out a deep, exasperated breath.

“Why are you all so deluded? I'm not what you think I am.”

Porthos' smile was wide and irreverent.

“D'Artagnan might be deluded. I'm half convinced the boy thinks you could walk on water,” teased Porthos, but his face grew serious. “You are not hopelessly broken, Athos. Nah, I know you. I know you're an honorable man. My job is to make sure you never forget it.” He knocked his glass against Athos'. “No matter how you try.”

Athos felt a grin pull at his lips and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. They sat in companionable silence, drinking leisurely.

More than halfway through the bottle, Porthos reached out and captured one of Athos' hands in his and turned it to study the bruised skin around his wrists. Athos stilled, but didn't pull away. Large fingertips brushed lightly over the marks, but whatever Porthos found seemed to satisfy him and he let go again without a comment.

It was one of the many things that Athos appreciated about Porthos. He knew when to be quiet.

The big man was studying the wine in the bottom of his cup, brow furrowed, lips pressed together in a frown. Athos had seen it more and more recently, something weighing on Porthos' mind.

And he had an idea of where to begin his questioning.

“What is your quarrel with Treville?” Porthos startled and then Athos watched his face shutter. He didn't answer for a long moment, but Athos knew he would. Secrecy was not something Porthos practiced often.

“He knows somethin' about me. Maybe about my father.” Athos tilted his head, intrigued.

“Why do you say that?”

“When we were rescuing De Foix? Somethin' in the way he looked at me. It was odd. And then later, after De Foix died, he left me a legacy in his will. Didn't make no sense. If he didn't know anythin' about me, no more than you or d'Artagnan or Aramis, why leave me a legacy?” Porthos shook his head roughly and refilled his glass. “When I asked the Captain, all I discovered is that he's a surprisingly bad liar.”

Athos considered this. Treville had been anxious lately and it was more than his loss of command, more than thinking of the management of the regiment. Something was eating away at him and what Porthos said fit.

“What does Aramis think?” Porthos' jaw clenched and he rolled a shoulder like it pained him.

“I wouldn't know,” he muttered, suddenly interested in the table between them.

Years and years of practice were all that kept Athos' frustration in check. Damn Aramis.

Damn his secrets and his lies and his recklessness.

Even if his tryst with the Queen did not get Aramis killed, it was doing a good job of killing his friendships.

Athos never thought he'd see a day when Porthos did not feel as though he could take his concerns to Aramis.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“The only time I have ever known the Captain to lie is when he thinks he has no choice. Perhaps he's trying to protect you.” Athos chose his words carefully. “Your father may not be a good man.”

Porthos laughed, but it was nothing like his usual merriment. It was hard and ugly and grim and Athos hated it.

“A good man? He turned us out to starve to death in the street, Athos. I don't think I'm goin' to mistake him for a 'good man'.” Porthos emptied his cup. Athos could see him collecting his thoughts, deciding what to say.

“My mother...” he trailed off, eyes distant. “My mother's a half-remembered dream. A ghost. I want somethin' real. To know somethin' of who I am.”

Athos was no fool, he knew Porthos held them together. A balancing temperament and a steady hand, but it was more than that. He _needed_ a family. They all benefited from it, but it was Porthos who welcomed it and nurtured it and fought for it.

Athos had spent the last six years running from his past, running from his responsibilities, running from the ties that held him. And Porthos would give anything for the opportunity to have those ties.

“Very well,” said Athos. “If it is what you wish, I'll speak to the Captain.”

“You'd do that?” Porthos looked at him dark eyes filled with want, his voice uncertain.

“I'd do anything for you, if it is in my power,” answered Athos firmly. “And this most definitely is.”

He stood up and touched Porthos' shoulder. He moved to leave, but turned back at the door.

“If you find him, your father, he may tell you of your past. He may tell you of your mother. But he can tell you nothing of who you are. The man you became is not his purview. Your achievements are your own.”

Porthos held his gaze before he ducked his head.

“I appreciate that, I do,” said Porthos quietly. “I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing, Porthos. I am duty-bound to do it.” He settled his hat on his head and gave Porthos a soft smile. “Family business and all.”

Porthos' surprised chuckle followed him out the door and into the night.

 

 


End file.
